Have Lois Service Them

One of the women—the tallest and stateliest of them, a shawl around her thin shoulders, a string of pearls at her throat, hair covered by a kind of multicolored turban—stepped up close to the cage. Lois saw that she was wearing open-toed shoes...and these she slipped out of, pink pads of her feet touching the ground. There were rings on some of those long toes, and yet she stuck them boldly through the bars of the cage.

Watching. Waiting.

You know what you want to do, the voice in the reporter's head seemed to tell her. What would a dog do? That's what you are to them. Inferior. Worthless. An animal.

Lois opened her mouth. A pink tongue slid out, over and between the proffered toes. Tasted skin like old leather. Soft lips closed on them, sucking at the bony digits. The other women in the room had stopped laughing, stopped saying anything, only watched as Lois sucked the old woman's toes...

"Let her out, Latisha," the old woman said, as she pulled her foot back. "And ladies, skin down. This bitch is going to service us. All of us. Until we're satisfied. And she isn't leaving until she does."

"Yas Queen," the taxi driver stepped forward, a key flashed. The other women began to disrobe. The stately older woman held the reporter's gaze.

"You will learn your place," there was quiet command in the woman's voice. "Or you will be punished."

It reminded Lois of her father, the general, who didn't need to bark an order to be obeyed. When those around you are well trained, a whisper was as impactful as a shout. Brown hands pulled at her belt, and the woman's dress fell open...and Lois Lane's eyes opened wide at what was exposed there.